


everything stays (but nothing's quite the same)

by advisortotheadvisor



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Kind of like quirin's thoughts throughtout season 3, spoiler alert: hes not mclovin it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advisortotheadvisor/pseuds/advisortotheadvisor
Summary: A year. A whole year.It weighed heavily, full of terrible, unspoken connotations. He'd missed a year of his life, of his son's life.As Quirin stared at his son, three inches taller and a year older than he was supposed to be, an unease settled in his mind.(Or, time stopped for Quirin while he was in the amber, but that doesn't mean the world stopped too)
Relationships: Quirin & Varian (Disney)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 142





	everything stays (but nothing's quite the same)

There was a small part of Quirin that didn't fully believe the extent of what Varian had done while Quirin was trapped in that amber.

The day he'd been freed from the amber, still kneeling in the melted and shattered remains of Quirin's prison, Varian had explained what he'd done, voice shaking and heavy with tears, but never once stopping. He talked about treason and kidnapping and prison and the Separatists and redemption. Varian kept his gaze on the floor and refused to meet Quirin's eyes, but he also gripped tightly onto Quirin's forearms, like his father would disappear the second he let go.

And after the lengthy breakdown of every awful thing he had done, Varian curled in on himself like he was waiting for a lecture from Quirin. “Guess there's not much to be proud of after all, huh?”

“Varian.” Quirin wrapped his hands around the boy’s shoulders, which was enough to startle Varian into looking up. “I am still so proud of you. You made mistakes, true, but you also realized you were wrong and tried to fix them.”

A look of surprise washed over Varian's face, and then he launched himself at his father, locking his arms around Quirin in a hug so tight that it might have hurt if Varian was a stronger kid. Quirin returned the hug, but doubt still crept into his mind.

He just…couldn't connect the boy from Varian's story to the boy he raised. Could Varian, _his_ Varian, really be capable of doing all those things? His son could be reckless and stubborn and short-sighted, sure, but _cruel?_ Cruel enough to try to kill people, people he had considered friends? It was unthinkable, for God's sake the boy had once begged him to not kill the raccoons stealing their produce. He couldn't imagine his son as a criminal, much less a serious threat to all of Corona.

Eventually, Varian slowly disentangled himself from Quirin's arms and wiped the last remnants of his tears with strangely gloveless hands. Quirin realized that, at some point, the princess had left, and he couldn't help but feel grateful for her absence. The last couple minutes had been a very private family reunion, and he was glad no one else bore witness to it. Varian sniffed, still trying to clear the last traces of his crying, and, though quiet, the noise still brought Quirin's attention back to the boy in front of him. Then there was a pause, a silence, a moment of _what happens now?_

Varian stood, and then Quirin followed suite, joints cracking, though he couldn't tell if it was from old age or being immobile for so long. He followed Varian out of the lab and realized, with a start, that his son had grown taller. It wasn't a substantial change in height, but it was a physical reminder of how much time Quirin had lost. 

For him, it felt like he had only been trapped in the amber for a few minutes. One moment, he had been finishing that note for Varian, hoping that his son would somehow be able to read it. The next, he was waking up again, unaware of all the time that had passed.

It had been one of the first things Varian told Quirin, even before his lengthy list of criminal exploits. Quirin had asked, and Varian had told him, down to the day, how long Quirin had been encased in the amber. It still rang hollowly in his head, echoing over and over again like church bells.

A _year_. A whole year.

It weighed heavily, full of terrible, unspoken connotations. He'd missed a year of his life, of his son's life.

As Quirin stared at his son, three inches taller and a year older than he was supposed to be, an unease settled in his mind.

* * *

He was ashamed to admit it, but he’d never had the best relationship with Varian. Varian had little interest in learning how to farm or run Old Corona, Quirin couldn't make heads or tails of Varian's alchemy and only ventured to his lab to remind him to eat meals and reprimand him when one of his experiments went too far. They were like two ships passing in the night, aware of each other and their lives overlapping, but never quite on the same page.

For the first few weeks after Quirin was freed from his amber prison, though, Varian stuck to his father like glue. He helped in the field and went into town with Quirin (where they both ignored the hushed whispers about Varian's past crimes) and rarely did any experimenting in his lab. Quirin wasn't sure if the clinginess was to compensate for all the time they'd been apart, or if it was out of some kind of anxiety that Quirin would disappear the second Varian turned his back. Either way, it was a welcome change, considering how little time he'd spent with his son in the past. 

Slowly, though, Varian seemed to realize that Quirin wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and he started to spend more and more time at the capital. Something about there being larger lab space and him being less likely to blow up someone else’s property if an experiment went awry. 

As a result, Quirin saw his son less and less. It was like things had been before, the two of them going their own separate paths that intersected frequently, but it wasn't the same. Not really. It was like looking at a warped reflection; on the surface, it looked similar enough, but all the little aberrations made it look vastly different. And those aberrations tore at Quirin, building up like sand in the bottom of an hourglass, spelling out all the ways the world had changed while he was in the amber.

Some days, the changes were hardly noticeable and it was like the past year hadn't happened. Other days, the changes were so stark that it left Quirin dizzy. How could so much have changed in a single year? How could _Varian_ have changed so much in a year?

Because, while he admittedly hadn't been the most attentive father in the past, he knew his son. He knew that the past year had affected Varian a lot.

There were small things, like Varian checking out of the corner of his eyes to make sure that Quirin was still there and not encased in amber, or a new aversion to heights.

The nightmares were a bigger change, though, and one Varian couldn't brush off as easily. Quirin was used to Varian's frequent bouts of insomnia, where he'd work himself to exhaustion over some new alchemical formula until he passed out over his desk or in his lab. Now though, instead of waking up from muffled explosions from the lab, Quirin was torn from slumber by cut-off screams when Varian was startled awake by another nightmare. Whatever awful things Varian saw in his dreams, he wasn't keen on sharing them (something else Quirin wasn't used to – he couldn't remember the last time Varian _didn't_ want to talk about something. He'd certainly inherited his mother's tendency to ramble). Quirin would go to check on him and would always be met with the same thing: A trembling “I'm fine, Dad" as his fingers wove into Ruddiger's fur, trying to draw a bit of comfort from the animal. It wasn't like he could force Varian to talk about them – actually, he was pretty sure that forcing it would do more harm than good. All he could do was hope that Varian would tell him about the nightmares when he was ready.

The biggest difference, though, in Quirin's opinion, were Varian’s eyes. There was a hardness there, now. A hardness that spoke of terrible struggles and past dangers and going face-to-face with the worst of life. It was a hardness that belonged on adults and criminals and people who had seen trauma up close and personal. It did not belong on his fourteen year old (no, fifteen now, Varian had turned fifteen in a jail cell) son.

But it was.

Some days, that hardness would soften, transforming into something almost recognizable. It was like the last year was erased and Varian was just Varian again, his accident-prone son who still believed the best of people. It wasn't entirely the same, but Varian would crack jokes and ramble about alchemy and it was familiar enough to ease the ache in Quirin's chest.

But other days, days where Varian would have nightmares and then pretend he hadn't, or when it got too cold and too similar to a blizzard that happened a year and a lifetime ago, then the hardness turned into something deep-rooted and sharp and damaged. It would steal into Varian's eyes and remind Quirin that while he was immobilized, his son had been hurt and angry and had lashed out in the worst possible way.

And Quirin hadn't been there.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Varian had been angry and wanted to hurt people and Quirin hadn't been there. Varian had done awful things, would've done more awful things if he hadn't been stopped and Quirin wasn't there. Varian had _needed_ him and he hadn't been there.

And now that he _was_ here, Varian...didn't need him. His son had been on his own for a while Quirin was trapped in the amber. He'd gotten used to being alone, to relying on himself and no one else. And Quirin being back didn't magically undo all of that. He didn't think anything would undo that.

But he could try to be more present, to be more there for his son. He hadn't been there for Varian even before the Amber Incident, but he was here _now_.

Varian had changed, but maybe Quirin needed to change too.

It was a cool morning when Quirin decided to start trying to change. It was the kind of morning that warned of sharp winds and Quirin was up at the crack of dawn to check on the apple trees.

“Morning, son,” he called to Varian when he wandered out of the house ten minutes later to reset the raccoon traps. Varian waved in reply, looking barely conscious. His son had never been a morning person. “Got any plans for today?”

Varian stifled a yawn before answering. “I was going to try to test another cure for the king and queen's memory loss. I’m pretty sure my latest alchemical solution will do the trick.”

And normally, that would be where the conversation ended. They'd go about their days, only vaguely aware of what the other was doing.

But Quirin didn't want that kind of relationship with his son, not anymore, so he tried for an encouraging tone as he said, “Sounds interesting. Mind telling me more?”

Varian looked at him dubiously. “Really?”

At Quirin's nod, Varian smiled so wide it looked almost painful, and he started to explain his alchemical theories at breakneck speed. Most of the jargon went over Quirin's head, but he understood the gist of it.

And maybe he hadn’t been the best father before, hadn't been there when Varian needed him. And maybe he couldn't help Varian with his nightmares, or his trauma, or coming to terms with the bad things he'd done in the past. 

But he could do this, could listen to his son talk about his passion, could try to be there for him _now_. 

Varian pulled a low-hanging apple from a branch to feed to Ruddiger, using his other hand to gesture along with explanation, never once stopping. His son's smile never left his face and for a while, everything felt lighter.

* * *

Before the Amber Incident, Varian had always done his experiments in the lab. Quirin had always known right away when things went wrong and how serious any injuries were. 

Now, though, Varian did most of his alchemy in the lab in the capital. Three hours away. If things went wrong, if something happened, Quirin wouldn't know. He wouldn't know if Varian got injured (or worse) until some guard or servant of the castle came to tell him. Which, frankly, wouldn't be helpful because Varian could be in any condition at that point.

And he knew it was a bit of an irrational fear. He'd drilled proper safety procedures into Varian's head years ago, and while Varian wasn't _great_ at following them, his son wasn't an idiot. He knew how to keep himself from getting too injured if an experiment went haywire. Not to mention there were plenty of people at the palace who would realize if something went wrong, and a royal physician who could tend to Varian if some invention or alchemical solution backfired.

But still, the fear still remained in the back of his mind, that it wouldn't be Varian coming back to him, but some unfortunate messenger, saying _I'm sorry, but your son is dead._

Varian’s new near-constant brushes with death didn't exactly alleviate these fears.

Varian was, despite all safety precautions, an accident-prone kid. His tendency to not look before he leaped combined with a fascination with dangerous chemicals and an insatiable curiosity naturally led to mishaps. Quirin knew how to deal with those, knew how to bandage chemical burns and pick pieces of shattered glassware out of skin and lecture about _being more careful, Varian, you're lucky you weren't hurt worse_. He knew how to deal with mundane lab accidents and the occasional destruction of private property.

But that was nothing compared to the kind of things Varian was getting into now.

Varian would come back from the capital of Corona, no worse for the wear, and tell him about facing undead crypt guardians and being trapped in magic pendants and Quirin had no idea how to deal with that. Hell, there wasn't even much he _could_ do; he only ever learned about it hours afterwards, when the danger was already passed. He couldn't even give Varian advice on any of it; ‘be more careful' was a worthless reprimand because no one in their right mind could prepare for getting shrunken down and imprisoned in a necklace. And again, he knew it was irrational. He'd seen far worse magical threats as a member of the Brotherhood. But still, he'd been an adult then, had trained for years to face those kinds of dangers. Varian was a kid, _his_ kid, who shouldn't have to defend himself from _any_ kind of magical threat.

Once, in a moment of fear he wasn't proud of, he almost considered banning Varian from going to the capital at all. It'd be easy to say, “It's too dangerous, just stay here and do your experimenting in your old lab.” It would protect his son from whatever magical, life-endangering nonsense was going on there, and protecting Varian was all he ever wanted.

…then again, wasn't protecting Varian why Quirin had lied about the black rocks and the Brotherhood? And look where that got him.

Simply telling him ‘no' wouldn't stop Varian; it never did. Varian would demand hard facts about why something was a bad idea, and ‘Because it’s dangerous’ rarely sufficed. If he tried to stop Varian from going to the capital, Varian would go anyway, only he would lie and sneak around and Quirin would be more in the dark about what happened there than he already was. Besides, it would just be cruel, to limit and restrict his son like that with only the flimsy excuse of protecting him.

So he let his son go to the capital, let him face life-threatening situation after life-threatening situation. He let Varian come home with new bruises and scars and stories about saving the kingdom from red fear-inducing rocks ( _and why was it a child’s, **his** child's job to save the kingdom-_) and tried to convince himself it was for the best. He was almost successful, too; his son never came back with any serious injuries and he could handle himself in any kind of tough situation, so it was fine, right?

And then Varian got kidnapped.

It had started off normal; Varian told him he was going to the capital for the day, Quirin told him to be back by dinner. 

(Looking back, he would always regret not just telling Varian to stay home.)

The day crept by, dinner came and went, and Varian still wasn't home. Quirin shrugged and told himself that Varian had stayed the night at the castle again. It happened occasionally; Varian would get caught up in an experiment or new theory, lose track of time, and opt to stay the night rather than try to trek back home in the dark. Varian would usually arrive home early the next morning, apologetic but brimming with excitement about whatever breakthrough he had made the night before. Quirin wasn't exactly thrilled about being unaware of where his son was and when he'd be back, but being on his own for a year while Quirin was trapped in amber had made Varian more independent, and Quirin was trying to get used to it.

But then morning came and went and Varian still wasn't home and by lunchtime Quirin was starting to get worried. Losing track of time was one thing, disappearing completely was another. The sun dipped further and further east, and still no sign of Varian.

By nightfall, Quirin knew, without a doubt, that something was wrong. He was preparing to head to the capital himself to see what was wrong when a cluster of people appeared on the edge of his property. He expected them to be villagers from Old Corona and started to make his way over to tell them _sorry, but I can't speak with anyone right now, my son is missing_ , when he noticed one of the people's hair. Her long, bright yellow hair. The princess.

He quickened his pace because if anyone knew what happened to Varian, it would be her. She was a sweet girl, really, but her and disaster seemed to go hand-in-hand and most of Varian's recent brushes with danger seemed to link back to her.

A second later though, all of that was wiped from his mind and he couldn't care less about Rapunzel. What mattered was who was beside her: Varian, battered and bruised but _alive_. Distantly, he noted that the princess’s boyfriend, that Eugene fellow Varian had taken a liking too, was there as well, but that paled in comparison to the fact that his son was finally back, with his heart still beating.

“Varian!” His arms wrapped around his son, holding him tight as a physical reminder that Varian was _there_ , he was there and still breathing. A second later Quirin drew back so he could look over Varian properly. “What happened? Are you okay? Where were you?”

“I'm fine, Dad,” Varian said. It appeared to be the truth; no visible broken bones or open wounds, no strain in his voice, no poorly concealed pained breathing. 

“Where were you?” Quirin pressed, keeping his hands on Varian's shoulders “You’re not allowed to just disappear for over a day like that.”

“It's…complicated. And a long story,” Varian said. Quirin raised an eyebrow to urge him on, as well as remind him that Quirin wouldn't stand for any evasive bullshit. “I'll tell you later, I promise. But I'm hungry, my back still hurts from the cage and I think I need to change these clothes.” He sniffed his shirt experimentally. “Yeah, definitely need a change of clothes.”

The word _cage_ and all its implications made Quirin freeze, and then it made him want to demand an explanation immediately. But answers would have to wait, because Varian did desperately need some clean clothes, and some food too if the loud growl from his stomach was any indication. So, he resigned himself to being in the dark a little longer.

He turned to Rapunzel and Eugene, who had remained silent throughout him and Varian's conversation. “Thank you for getting him home safely.” He might not know what exactly happened, but he'd bet his whole farm that the two people in front of him were instrumental in making sure his son was alright.

“He's like a brother to me, I wouldn't let anything happen to him,” Rapunzel said sincerely, shooting a smile warm enough to rival the sundrop to Varian. Varian beamed in return.

“Yeah, we'd hate if anything happened to our favorite nerd,” Eugene joked, reaching out to ruffle Varian's hair. A second later, he looked away to scan the night sky, face becoming a fraction more serious. “Hate to just drop the kid and run, but we've gotta start moving if we want to make it back to the castle before midnight.”

With that, the couple bid their farewells and went on their way. Varian lingered for a second before giving Quirin a quick, one-armed hug and darting into the house. By the time Quirin made it inside too, Varian was nowhere to be seen. He was probably upstairs, changing into some clean clothes as he'd promised, so Quirin started to make a late dinner for him. 

By the time Varian came back down stairs, Quirin had finished preparing the meal. It was cooling on the table and Quirin sat across from it, steeling himself for what would undoubtedly be another serious, emotionally-draining talk with his son. 

Varian slid into his seat and started shoveling food into his mouth immediately. It was a pretty basic meal; a slice of pork, some vegetables from their farm, a roll of bread, but Varian scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

After Varian had gotten about halfway through his plate, Quirin pointedly cleared his throat to draw Varian's attention back to him, and to remind him of their unfinished conversation earlier. Varian looked up, and then down at the table again like it was some scientific equation he was trying to puzzle out. Ruddiger scurried out from whatever corner he'd been hiding in and perched himself on Varian's shoulder, pressing his nose into the boy's cheek in an attempt to comfort him. When it began to look like Varian wasn't going to be forthcoming with where he'd been for the past 24 hours, Quirin took matters into his own hands.

“Where were you, Varian?” he repeated the third time that night. 

Varian's fingers drummed on the table, probably trying to expel the nervous energy from his body. “Yeah, about that…I was kind of…kidnappedbyCass.” The words came out in a rush, like he was trying to sneak the information past Quirin.

“What?” The word grew in volume as it came out, transforming into a roar as _kidnapped_ and _Varian_ collided in his mind, combining into a parent's worst nightmare. Varian flinched back, and regret pooled in Quirin's stomach. Right, he needed to calm down and _stop scaring his son, damn it._ He needed the whole story. “Why?”

“You know how Rapunzel asked me translate the Demanitus scroll?” Varian asked instead of answering. Quirin nodded, slightly thrown by the change in subject, but he was sure it would somehow loop back to the kidnapping. It was how Varian communicated information; he circled around his point with jargon and context before finally reaching it. 

So, Varian told the whole story, from the third incantation to Cassandra holding him in a cage in that tower to Rapunzel and her crew rescuing him.

Silence reigned after Varian finished talking, since Quirin was too stunned to contribute anything. Several emotions warred inside him, concern ( _his son had been **kidnapped**. Varian said he was okay, but was he? Could there be some kind of internal injury that Varian was hiding from him?_) and anger ( _how dare she touch his son? Why had no one thought to tell him his son was in danger for the umpteenth time? How had all the people in that damn castle just let her waltz out with his son? How dare she touch his son_ -) being at the forefront. 

“Dad?” Varian asked. “You, uh, you okay? You’re kinda just…sitting there.”

Right, he needed to react, to say something, _what the hell was he supposed to say to something like this-_

"Are you sure you’re alright, son?”

Varian blinked. “Yeah. I mean, my back is still sore, but that's about it.”

“Good. I’m glad you weren't hurt.” Another silence settled, practically strangling them with its awkwardness. Quirin got the distinct but now-familiar impression that he was in way over his head. “Would you like to…talk about it?”

“N-no. Not really.”

“Alright then.” He stood, and Varian followed suit. The boy swayed on his feet for a second, steadying himself against the table, and Quirin became very aware of the tired shadows beneath Varian's eyes. Had they always been so dark? “Go to bed, you look like you need the rest.”

Varian huffed but didn't argue, which was a testament to how much the ordeal had worn him out. “Fine.”

“I mean it, no trying to sneak downstairs to do any alchemy,” Quirin warned. That, at least, garnered him a half-laugh under his son's breath.

Varian disappeared upstairs with Ruddiger at his heels and Quirin settled himself in front of the fireplace. He coaxed it into doubling in size, letting its warmth spread into the rest of the house.

Then, he buried his face into his hands and groaned. He missed the days where he only had to worry about Varian blowing up all of Old Corona.

Even when he was younger, Varian had always attracted trouble. He would throw himself headfirst into whatever situation life presented him with, regardless of the danger it held. He would poke at things better left alone and constantly wandered off to study whatever new thing that caught his attention. Quirin would bet that a good 70% of Varian's childhood was him chasing his son down because he'd darted off to look at something that interested him. 

When Varian started to develop an interest in alchemy, trouble became a permanent houseguest. Compounds would explode, beakers would break, inventions would malfunction. Quirin admired his son's tenacity, but that didn't quell the ever-present fear that the newest experiment would be the one that caused irreversible damage.

Despite all that though, nothing had struck as much fear into Quirin's heart as the last day had. Abduction was a far cry from a failed invention.

_Kidnapping_. The word weighed heavy as a stone in Quirin's thoughts as he watched the fire slowly die down again. It was a word like _treason_ or _jail_ that somehow, unbelievably, was connected to his son. 

Rapunzel and her friends had been lucky, had rescued Varian barely a day after he'd been taken, but fears and what-ifs still ran through Quirin's mind. What if they had been too late? What if Cassandra went after Varian again? What if she had killed-

“He's fine,” Quirin reminded himself firmly, as though saying the words aloud would strengthen them. Because it was true, wasn't it? Varian was home again and he was fine and everything was going to be fine.

The last embers of the fire flickered out and Quirin took that as a sign to go to bed. He double checked that the door was securely locked before making his way to his bedroom.

But, almost on instinct, he stopped in front of Varian’s door. For a moment, it was like he was newly widowed and the single father of a toddler again, because he was suddenly struck by the burning need to make sure that Varian was still there, that he hadn't been taken again.

So, a very parental fear still gripping him, he carefully nudged the door open, slow enough that the old hinges of the door wouldn't squeak. There, unsurprisingly, was Varian, fast asleep in his bed. It was a mundane sight, but Quirin couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. He ventured further into Varian's room, mindful of all the crumpled papers and books underfoot. Once he was close enough, he leaned down to where Varian had kicked off his blanket in his sleep and pulled it over Varian. Ruddiger cracked his eyes to see what Quirin was doing before chittering sleepily and curling more closely into Varian's side.

Satisfied with his son's safety, Quirin left the room to finally get some sleep for himself. 

His fears still crept into his mind, and he ended up checking on Varian four more times that night. The word _kidnapped_ echoed in his head over and over, through the night and into the next morning, where Varian announced that he needed to go to the capital to replenish some of the rarer materials he used for alchemy. 

Quirin had business he needed to attend to in Old Corona, so he couldn't accompany Varian, and as Varian prepared to leave, a thousand words got stuck in his throat. They ranged from _don't you realize you were only **lucky** yesterday_ to a simple _please don’t go_ , but in the end none of them came out and he settled for hugging his son a little longer and a little tighter than usual.

* * *

Quirin was used to Varian’s scientific notes being scattered around the house. There were as familiar as the walls or the floorboards beneath his feet. And even though Varian tended to keep them either in his lab or in his bedroom, they naturally ended up in other parts of the house, spiraling outward from wherever Varian happened to be working.

So, when he came across the plethora of papers and equations covering the dining room table, he only felt resigned as he called for Varian to come clean up his mess. He began to gather the papers into a pile, mostly out of habit, but a quick glance at one of the scribbled plans made him pause. And then resignation slowly melted into surprise.

The picture came together in piecemeal; the easy curves of the design, half-written notes cramped into every spare inch of paper, _Project Obsidian_ scratched on top in his son's handwriting.

It was a weapon. Something gun-like that could shoot alchemical compounds. Something dangerous.

Varian bounded down the stairs, Ruddiger in tow as usual, and nearly collided with the table before stopping himself. He started to gather the papers and Quirin could've let it go there, could've pretended to have never seen this. But keeping secrets and lying had never worked out for him when it came to Varian, so he had no choice but to face this head on.

“What is this?” he asked, jabbing a figure at one of the closest pages.

Varian looked over absentmindedly, and then seemed to stiffen ever so slightly. “Oh th-that's just Project Obsidian. It’s a…it's a defense system me and Eugene have been working on.”

“Defense system.”

“Yeah.” A gloved finger scratched at the wood grain of the table. “J-just in case Cass attacks the capital and Rapunzel can't talk her down.”

He wasn't a fool, he knew that Varian's projects had led to destruction before. But that had been unintentional, a misfortunate side effect from a flaw in the design or it being used incorrectly. But Quirin had never seen his son create weapons before. Well, there had been that sword a few years back, but that was only because Varian had wanted a replica from one of those Flynn Rider books he had been so obsessed with. It wasn't like Varian knew how to use the thing. And that had been an exception, not the rule. His son had never wanted to build something so…dangerous before. Something so capable of hurting people.

“Are you sure about this?” The words felt heavy and leaden on his tongue. He was used to pointing out the flaws in Varian's projects, how they could backfire and hurt someone if things went wrong. But now that the _intention_ was to hurt someone? He didn't know what to say.

“I don't want to do it either,” Varian said, and there was that hardness again, a sharp gaze fixated on the plans carefully laid out in ink. “But…I know what it's like. To be angry and to want to hurt everyone, anyone. It’s hard to get talked out of that mindset, and we…we need a contingency plan if that doesn’t work. Just because we don't want to hurt Cass doesn't mean she won't want to hurt us.”

There was a surety in Varian's voice and Quirin hated it, hated that his son could sympathize with this women, hated that his son knew so much about this kind of festering rage and the desperation to burn anything and everything.

“I…” His mouth felt like it was full of sand and he knew there had to be the right words for this, for the insane situation his family had been thrust into, but he couldn't find them. “Are you certain this will work?”

“It will.” And there was a grim surety in that too, as Varian finished gathering the papers.

And a cold feeling settled into Quirin's gut as he realized that he had been wrong.

Varian had created weapons before, had turned his alchemy into something to be afraid of, something that could wreak intentional damage.

The automatons, the sleeping powder he'd used on the queen, his transmutation of Ruddiger, the quirineon…all things Varian had designed to hurt people, to destroy Corona.

They hadn't seemed real when Varian first described them. They were the kinds of things you heard about in legends or read in fantasy novels, not tangible items used in real life battlefields. And they certainly weren't the kind of things his son – who tried too much to help people, to fix problems no matter the cost – would make.

But, as Quirin stared at Project Obsidian scrawled in his son's handwriting, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that all those things had been very, very real. And his son had almost destroyed the kingdom with them, had almost killed people with them. The person his son had been before Quirin was encased in the amber wouldn't have made such a thing. But the person from Varian’s story, the one who tried to destroy everything he could touch just because he was _angry_ , very much would have.

Varian gathered all the scraps of paper and incomprehensible notes into a single pile and started to make his way back to his room. Ruddiger clambered onto the boy's shoulders as he ascended the stairs and it was a sight so _normal_ it could've made Quirin laugh. Varian disappeared from sight and his footsteps faded as he walked further away and Quirin was left alone with his thoughts.

So, his son had experience in crafting dangerous weapons. And was currently using that experience to create more dangerous weapons for the captain of the guard, who apparently couldn't be bothered to ask an _actual professional_ , not a _teenager_.

But…

_I don't want to do it either._

Quirin believed that Varian meant those words. No matter what she had done, Varian, for some reason, didn't want to hurt Cassandra. He was doing this because he thought it was necessary, because he wasn't sure Cassandra would listen to reason. He wasn't building this…device because he _wanted_ to hurt anyone.

It was, it some cosmically twisted way, a perfect representation of who Varian had become.

He wasn't the boy Quirin knew from before the Amber Incident. He wasn't as innocent or eager to please. The year in prison and all the crimes he'd committed had hardened Varian. He was less trusting and more easily frustrated. But in the same way, all those changes weren't bad either. Varian had matured, had started to be more careful with his inventions and take more responsibility, had become more independent.

So maybe he wasn't thrilled with Varian crafting deadly weapons. But he trusted his son's judgement, and he knew that Varian wouldn't try to make something like this unless he genuinely thought Cassandra was a threat

Besides, it was just a contingency plan. He doubted the thing would ever even be used.

(He was wrong about that too.)

* * *

In some odd way, clearing rubble was familiar enough to help offset the utter insanity that had been this day.

Demon attacks? Mind control? His son being ripped away to an alternate dimension? Quirin didn't have the faintest idea on how to handle any of those, much less cope with the psychological aftermath.

But cleaning debris? Easy. _Normal_. It was one of the things you grew accustomed to when your son was an aspiring scientist whose experiments tended to backfire. When Varian was younger, any and all potential damage had been limited to his glassware and any household objects that happened to be nearby. As Varian got older, his experiments grew bigger, and so did their blast radius. Helping Varian clean up the aftermath became commonplace.

But even the worst of Varian's experiments didn't hold a candle to the destruction following the battle with Zhan Tiri.

The streets of the capital were a wasteland; shattered glass covered the ground like a carpet and entire buildings were on the verge of collapse. People were already trying to recover valuables from the wreckage of their homes and businesses, while others tried to dispose of the debris.

Despite all that, most people were celebrating.

People rejoiced with loved ones, and the air was cheerful and light. Someone had started to play music, some lively tune Quirin didn't know the name of. Children chased each other in an elaborate game of tag while others danced with their parents in time to the music.

But none of that was currently on Quirin's mind. Somewhere between fighting Zhan Tiri and now, he'd lost track of Varian. Typically, this would only warrant a small amount of worry, since Varian had a tendency to wander off without telling Quirin. However, ever since the kidnapping incident, and the fact that the kingdom had just been attacked by a literal goddamn _demon_ , Quirin felt that a little over overprotectiveness was justified.

He scanned the crowd once more for Varian before settling for finding someone who might at least know where Varian was. The princess was no longer immediately distinguishable by her seventy feet of hair, but she was still easy to find simply because of the swarm of people surrounding her. He pushed his way through the crowd, struggling through until he was face-to-face with Rapunzel.

“Quirin,” she greeted, her smile as sunny as ever, despite all the turmoil that had happened only a few short hours ago.

“Hello, Rapunzel.” Being on a first name basis with a royal still felt strange, but she seemed determined to reject any formal address people tried to give her. “Do you know where Varian is by any chance?”

“I think I saw him going back to the castle.”

Quirin thanked her and let another subject take his place as he headed toward where his son supposedly was.

Sure enough, Varian was in the throne room of the castle, sorting through the rubble from when Zhan Tiri had crashed through the ceiling. Bits of machinery from the destroyed portal were still visible through the dust and chunks of ceiling. The twisted metal caught the light and sent it scattering throughout the room.

“You okay, son?” Quirin asked as he approached. Varian jumped at the sudden intrusion, and then tried his hardest to appear unruffled.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s just that a lot of this machinery is delicate and I want to salvage as much of it as quickly as possible. I think I can repurpose most of it, with a few minor adjustments, of course,” Varian rambled as he tried to lift a particularly heavy piece of debris. After watching him struggle for a minute, Quirin stepped in and helped him move it a few feet away.

An easy silence formed as they slowly uncovered the remains of the portal. Most of it was in poor condition, but Quirin believed that Varian could make something useful out of this junk somehow. The sun started to dip toward the horizon, its progress easy to track through the gaping hole in the wall. The cool night air started to come through and Varian seemed to be at odds with himself. He stared without seeing at the ruined fruits of his labor and you could practically see the internal debate he was having with himself. Quirin was about to suggest they stop for the night – they were almost done anyway – but Varian interrupted him before he could even open his mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Varian burst out. “A-about the stun mechanism thing. I-it's just the Mind Trap and Eugene pointed out you were in the Brotherhood and the helmet was just _there_ , but I still didn't want to hurt you and I'm sorry and-"

“Varian,” Quirin said firmly, interrupting Varian's anxious jabbering by clasping his shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But Dad I-"

“You made the right call,” Quirin continued on. “Who knows what I might have done if you hadn't stopped me?”

Varian didn't have a response to that, but the tentative smile curving over his face said enough. Quirin pulled him into a hug, the physical contact serving as a reminder that despite all the danger the last few days had brought, they had _survived_.

“I am so proud of you,” he said, and he meant it, had always meant it, had always _felt_ it. Why had it taken so long to say those six simple words? He should have just told Varian instead of assuming his son would somehow know how he felt. He never should have let Varian think that he was disappointed in him.

He eventually broke away from the hug, absently rubbing at a smudge of dirt on Varian's face as they separated. Varian made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, sounding like an angry cat as he jerked away and mumbled “I'm not a _baby_ , Dad.” Quirin chuckled at his son's reaction, his laughter only growing at the indignant look on Varian’s face.

Varian turned away, seemingly intent on going back to their previous task of clearing rubble, but Quirin caught him by the shoulder.

“It's getting late, we can finish in the morning,” Quirin said, gently guiding Varian towards the door. Varian looked like he might argue, but apparently decided against it and let Quirin lead him out of the castle.

They were barely outside the castle's gate when something caught Varian's attention. The something in question was a large, helmeted man with a tray of cupcakes who appeared to be talking to the princess.

“Have you had one of Attila's cupcakes yet?” Varian asked.

“Attila? Is that the fellow with the horns?” Varian nodded, and Quirin thought for a second. “I don't think I have.”

Varian's face lit up and he grabbed Quirin's arm and suddenly it was like his son was seven again, eager to drag his father to whatever new discovery he'd made about the world. And, just like when a seven-year-old Varian wanted to show him some new animal or book, Quirin allowed himself to be dragged along as Varian chattered on about how baking was really like alchemy, but less explosive and more edible.

Things weren't perfect. They would probably never be perfect, and they certainly wouldn't go back to the way they were before, but honestly, that was probably a good thing.

There was still a city to be rebuilt and trauma to overcome. There would be nightmares and job promotions and commutes to Old Corona and correspondence with the Dark Kingdom and repairing burnt bridges and hundreds of changes, some insignificant and some earth-shattering. There would be bad days where the weight of everything Varian had seen and done would threaten to break him, but there would be good days too, days where all this seemed like a distant memory, where Varian would joke with Rapunzel and Eugene and Lance as him and Quirin experimented in the chambers of the Royal Engineer.

But all that was months and years off. For now, all that mattered was this, right here and right now, with Varian arguing the scientific principles of baking with Eugene as the princess hid a laugh behind her hand.

The stars began to come out one by one and despite the clamor happening around him, Quirin felt at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact about this fic: it was originally only going to be the part about Project Obsidian (quirin must've had some reaction to varian building a bazooka) but then adhd hellbrain took over and now theres 7000 words of Quirin introspection. Yay.


End file.
